


Champagne And Suspenders

by BroodingSoul



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Drunk Derek, Drunk Stiles, Idiots in Love, M/M, New Year's Eve, New Year's Kiss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-03
Updated: 2014-01-03
Packaged: 2018-01-07 07:07:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1116962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BroodingSoul/pseuds/BroodingSoul
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New Year's Eve in Beacon Hills and Derek is a little drunk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne And Suspenders

**Author's Note:**

> I told a friend I'd write a fic based off of Tyler Hoechlin's stupid awful beautiful Instagram photos from his New Year's celebration.

 

Stiles doesn’t realize Derek might be drunk until January 1st at midnight, right after everyone at the party counts down to one and shouts “Happy New Year!” That’s when Derek turns to Stiles, grabs him by the waist, and pulls him in for a kiss. Stiles is too surprised to resist and besides, it’s either kiss Derek back or chug the last of the bottle of champagne Stiles has been drinking from all night.

And yeah, okay, maybe Stiles is a little tipsy too and kissing Derek feels nice. And maybe Stiles took great pains to make sure he was standing next to Derek when the countdown began, just in case Derek was feeling frisky, because when Derek walked in wearing suspenders, a tie, and thick-rimmed glasses, all Stiles could think about was pulling Derek in by those suspenders and performing some unspeakable acts on him right there in the middle of the party.  
  
And then champagne happened for Stiles, whiskey for Derek. And then the countdown. And now Derek Hale is kissing Stiles Stillinski and 2014 is either going to be all uphill or downhill from here, Stiles isn’t really sure. At the moment, he doesn’t really care.

The kiss lasts about two seconds longer than everyone else’s, long enough for Stiles to have brought his free hand into play, hooking his fingers underneath one of Derek’s suspenders and gliding them upward, stopping at Derek’s chest and Good Lord, Stiles has touched Derek before but never like this. Between the champagne, the kiss, and the feel of Derek’s chest taut underneath Stiles’ fingers, Stiles feels a little light-headed, and is a tiny bit grateful when Derek suddenly pulls away. But only a tiny bit.

"You okay, dude?" Stiles asks Derek. He takes a swig of champagne, trying to calm himself down and use alcohol as an excuse for the flush currently mottling his cheeks.

"Yeah, it’s just—you were the closest," Derek explains. Stiles hands Derek the bottle of champagne and he takes a swallow before continuing. "And I know you, so it wouldn’t be as weird as kissing a stranger. I mean, it’s New Year’s and—"

"Relax your wolfy butthole," Stiles interrupts, hoping the dismissiveness will calm Derek down. It seems to work, but the blush on Stiles’ face returns when he realizes what he just said to Derek. Derek doesn’t seem to notice, so Stiles quickly continues, "It’s New Year’s and kissing is the tradition, I get it. You must remember this, a kiss is just a kiss."

"That’s not how the song goes," Derek mutters under his breath, nearly inaudible in the din of noisemakers at the party. Outside, a fireworks display booms as erratically as Stiles’ heartbeat after kissing Derek Hale.

"What did you say?" Stiles asks.

"Nothing."

"Come here, Stilinski!" Scott, who has clearly had too much champagne, barrels through the crowd and jumps into Stiles’ arms, wrapping his legs around his friend’s waist. Stiles barely has time to catch Scott before he falls to the ground. "Happy New Year, buddy!" Scott cheers, kissing Stiles sloppily on the cheek.

"Eeeugh!" Stiles exclaims, letting go of Scott. Scott hops off of Stiles, who wipes his cheek dry. "Werewolf slobber is, like, ten times worse than dog slobber, I swear to God." Stiles thinks he hears a faint huff coming from Derek’s direction, but he isn’t sure.

"Happy New Year, Hale!" Scott bro-fists toward Derek, who simply arches an eyebrow.

"Happy New Year, Scott," Derek nods, leaving Scott’s fist hanging in the air. Scott barely seems to notice, instead wrapping his arms around Derek and Stiles’ shoulders and leading them to a table stocked with bottles of alcohol.

"Let’s do shots!" Scott crows. Stiles eyes Derek, who shrugs and reaches for a bottle of tequila.

"Okay, let’s do shots," he repeats. Scott lines up three shot glasses and Derek fills them with tequila. He puts a shot glass in front of himself, one in front of Scott, and picks up the third and hands it to Stiles.

"Shots?" Derek asks. Stiles hesitates. This isn’t like Derek. Not that drunkenly kissing Stiles in the middle of a crowd is like Derek either, but it’s exceptionally not like Derek to let go like this. He’s always going on and on about the wolf inside and anchors and controlling the balance of power. Stiles is pretty sure getting wasted on tequila shots doesn’t really help control the balance of power.

But at the same time, there’s been a kind of hush all over Beacon Hills, so maybe this is Derek’s version of relaxing. It’s about time.

 _Fuck it_ , Stiles thinks. He grabs the shot glass from Derek and lofts it in the air.

"To whatever year we’re currently ringing in!" Stiles shouts. Shot glasses clink and tequila is slammed. Stiles grimaces as Scott lines up the shot glasses for another.

"Again!"  
  
***  
Three hours later, the party is still raging and Stiles feels pretty good. Sometime after the third or fourth shot, Scott snuck off to a dark corner with Allison and Derek just plain disappeared. Stiles has spent the last hour dancing with Erica and Lydia—well, dancing around them as they danced with each other—but now he needs some fresh air. And water.

He snags a bottle of water from a tub full of ice and heads outside. Stiles feels overheated, but the air is crisp and it feels amazing. He walks around the house’s wraparound porch until he finds a chair and flops down it. He twists the top of the water bottle and begins chugging. Nothing has ever tasted or felt so good in his life. Finishing it off, he tosses the empty bottle to the porch floor, where it promptly rolls off the porch and into a row of bushes.

“‘S bad for the environment, y’know.”

A voice comes out of the darkness, causing Stiles to jump about eight feet in the air. Derek emerges from the yard and clumsily climbs over the porch rail.

"Dude, where have you been?" Stiles asks.

Derek points to the night sky. “No moon,” he murmurs. “No moon, no pull.”

No pull, no wolf,” Stiles finishes, finally figuring out why Derek decided to let go. “That still doesn’t answer my question. Where have you been?”

"Had to pee." Derek shrugs.

"So you…went outside? You know that you’re allowed to use a bathroom, werewolf or not, right?"

"Yes,  _Stiles_ ,” Derek sighs. “But there was a line for the toilet and I had to go. So I went.”

"Well when you gotta go, you gotta go," Stiles relents. He takes in Derek and notices something’s missing.

"Hey, weren’t you wearing glasses earlier?"

"Yep," Derek answers.

"And suspenders?"

"I was." Derek lifts his arms from his sides and looks down at his torso. "Where did my suspenders go? I can no longer suspend." He chuckles, and drops down into a chair across from Stiles with a grunt. His hair is disheveled, his tie is loose around his neck, and his shirt is unbuttoned enough for Stiles to confirm his suspicions that, yes, Derek does actually wax his chest. Derek’s eyes are glassy, his pupils dilated. He looks rough as fuck and hotter than ever.

"Dude, you’re drunk," Stiles giggles, feeling the effects of the champagne and tequila himself. Stiles is in that special place in between tipsy and wasted, where everything feels great. He’s got his wits about him, but his inhibitions are lowered and he feels good.

"Dude,  _you’re_  drunk,” Derek mimics, causing Stiles to giggle again. Stiles swears he can see Derek’s eyes light up and the corner of his eyes crinkle.

"You need water," Stiles affirms.

“ _You_  need water,” Derek tosses back, more playfulness creeping into his voice. This time Stiles sees for sure that Derek is smiling, an honest to God smile.

"You clearly saw me put a water bottle down on the floor…"

"Tossed it into the bushes with no care for Mother Earth," Derek overlaps, teasing.

"…so maybe I’ll just go in and get  _you_  a water.” Stiles stands and starts to pass by Derek, but the tequila shots have left him unsteady on his feet. He stumbles, and Derek grabs Stiles’ waist to keep him upright.

"Thanks," Stiles mumbles. He’s a little embarrassed not just for stumbling, but also for not realizing he could have planned a slip and fall into Derek’s lap and blamed it on the alcohol.

"No problem," Derek offers. Stiles turns to walk away, but Derek’s hand encircles his wrist and pulls him back. Stiles slips and falls into Derek’s lap, Derek’s arms firmly ensconced around Stiles’ waist.

"You should be more careful walking around," Derek warns, "especially when it seems like you can’t handle your tequila."

"Oh, I can handle my tequila just fine," Stiles tosses back, trying to decide if he should be pissed at Derek for making him fall or if he should make a dumb comment about the cell phone in Derek’s pocket being happy to see him. He chooses option three instead and adds, "but maybe I just can’t handle you."

Derek’s eye’s narrows, the movement nearly imperceptible if not for the fact that Stiles is literally ten inches away from Derek’s face. Stiles mentally kicks himself in the ass for letting his drunken mouth speak quicker than his drunken brain could think. He’s about to apologize before Derek grins, disarmingly.

"Would you like to test that theory?" he asks. Before Stiles can ask Derek what he means, Derek leans down and kisses Stiles again. It’s clumsy at first, influenced by whiskey and tequila as it is, but once Derek’s lips find purchase, he corrects himself and suddenly Stiles is making out with Derek Hale on a wraparound porch at a New Year’s Party.

Stiles’ hands flail around, not sure what to do with themselves. One settles on Derek’s bicep, the other on the back of Derek’s head, fingers twisted into the course hair at the nape of his neck. Stiles finally gets his act together and starts to kiss Derek back. Derek has a solid week’s worth of scruff on his face and it scrapes at Stiles’ cheeks, a pleasant burn leaving red marks on Stiles’ skin.

Stiles pulls himself closer to Derek, who murmurs with surprise. It gives Stiles the chance to slide his tongue over Derek’s lips and taste the smoky flavor of tequila on Derek’s tongue. Stiles never wants to taste tequila any other way ever again. Derek’s tongue pushes back. His hand tightens on Stiles’ waist hard enough to sting and Stiles gasps.

"Too hard?" Derek asks, trailing his lips down Stiles’ neck, his scruff a thousand electric impulses sending Stiles into sensory overload.

“‘S good,” Stiles murmurs into Derek’s neck, breathing in the scent of whiskey and the woods. He nips at the juncture of Derek’s neck and shoulder and Derek grunts with pleasure.

After awhile—Stiles has lost track of time, and for good reason—the two of them pull apart for air. The skin around Stiles’ mouth is red and raw from Derek’s stubble. Derek pants slightly, and Stiles can feel Derek’s heart racing beneath the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

"Guess I can cross two New Year’s Resolutions off my list," Derek remarks, shifting Stiles’ weight around in his lap.

"Which?" Stiles questions.

"Make out with the annoying human who refuses to believe he’s not a part of my pack," Derek answers.

"And the second one?" Stiles wonders.

"Relax my wolfy butthole, apparently." Derek’s mouth twitches into a smirk as a full-fledged blush slams onto Stiles cheeks. He starts to stammer an apology, but Derek just leans in and silences him with another kiss.

"Happy New Year, Stiles."


End file.
